


To Split the Night

by AftertheFall (you_took_everything)



Series: A Retelling [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Never Met, Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Captain America: The First Avenger, Gen, Peggy Carter is a badass as per usual, Period-Typical Homophobia, World War II, steve and bucky never met before the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 16:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11877927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_took_everything/pseuds/AftertheFall
Summary: Part ISo young, so how were you to know, know, knowYou're a carrier, a carrier, of the light inside of youGlows green in the pitch black night, night, nightCan't tell anyone, anyone, it's hurting you





	To Split the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Part I
> 
> So young, so how were you to know, know, know  
> You're a carrier, a carrier, of the light inside of you  
> Glows green in the pitch black night, night, night  
> Can't tell anyone, anyone, it's hurting you

 

Bucky stood in a line with a bunch of other men at parade rest. All the men were probably as scared as Bucky, and, like Bucky, none of them willing to show it. 

His papers had come in the mail. It wasn't like he hadn't been expecting them. His father had looked grim. His mother had not been able to stop crying. She had always been religious, but she started attending mass two times a day and three times on Sundays. She tried to make Bucky come too, but he didn’t really see much point to it. He’d never been very religious. 

Becca had just looked at him and said, “don’t do anything stupid.” 

“You’re keeping all the stupid here with you.” He’d replied, then he hugged her, and they both cried on each other’s shoulders a little. 

He’d reported to Camp Lehigh a week later. 

He wondered how many other men were here because the United States Government had pulled on their leash, how many were here by choice, and how many didn't know the difference; for God and Country.

The sun was beating down on their heads and it was only nine in the morning. They had been standing there since seven a.m.. That was how the military worked. They said, “sit” and you sat. They said, “stand in this line until we figure out what to do with you,” you stood in that damn line. 

Bucky’s standard issue boots were already killing him, pressing and pinching in all the wrong places. It would be a while before he broke them in, and he wasn’t looking forward to the blisters until then. 

“Recruits, attention!” A British, female voice barked from behind them. 

It wasn’t quite the quick snap to attention that she had been hoping for, Bucky could tell from the curl of disapproval on her mouth as she came to stand in front of them. She surveyed them. Some were faster than others to stand up out of their slouching even under her hard gaze. They in turn, surveyed her. 

She was beautiful, there was no getting around that: brunette, curvy, intelligent brown eyes. Bucky also noticed the strength in how she carried herself, her shoulders looked broad in her uniform. Her jaw was stubborn and matched the bold red line of her mouth perfectly. Her uniform was pressed neatly, and not a hair was out of place. She looked like she wasn’t a pushover, that was for sure. 

“Gentlemen, I am Agent Peggy Carter.” A few sniggers could be heard throughout the line. Carter’s eyes danced from face to face. Her eyes were calm, but Bucky’s mind yelled _look out_ as he watched her.

“Is something funny, gentlemen?”

Her eyes landed briefly on Bucky and he stood a little taller; he’d never heard a funny thing in his life, he’d never laughed once since birth, he tried to school his face to convey that he didn’t even know the meaning of the word, “funny.” 

“I don’t think any single one of us could be mistaken for a gentleman, Miss Carter.” One not-so-bright fellow supplied. Nobody missed the fact that he had failed to address her by her rank. “Is that what those sissies over where you’re from are called?” 

“What’s your name, soldier?” 

“Gilmore Hodge, Your Majesty.”

“Step forward, Hodge.” Hodge took a cocky step out of line, with his head turned to the rest of the men on his right, tongue in the pocket of his cheek as he smirked. 

“Put your right foot forward.” Hodge did so like he was just humoring her. 

“We gonna wrestle? Cause I got a few moves I know you’ll like.” He was still smirking when she punched him. The satisfying sound of fist meeting flesh, and for a second, Agent Carter’s eyes were alight, bright and victorious. 

Hodge went down like a bag of bricks. 

It was all Bucky could do not to break rank and shake her hand. 

“Agent Carter.”

“Colonel Philips.” Peggy whirled and saluted smartly, only one or two hairs were out of place now. 

“I can see you’re breaking in our new recruits, Carter. That’s good.” Colonel Phillips looked like a man that had aged quickly over a very short timespan. There was a certain doggedness about him. 

“Get your ass up out of that dirt, son, and get back in that line until someone comes and tells you otherwise.” This the Colonel directed at Hodge, who scrambled to comply, even while his mouth still hung open in disbelief. 

“Yes, sir!”

Colonel Phillips pinned Hodge with a look. 

“Alright, Carter, looks like we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, sir.” There was a spark of humor in Agent Carter’s eyes now. 

“Well, let’s get to it.” 

_______________________________________

Bucky learned very quickly that he was a good at following orders. Which made him popular with the brass and not so popular with the other men. It was that good old Catholic upbringing. Say ten Hail Marys and Five Our Fathers. Open your mouth to receive the blood of Christ. Repeat. Kneel. Stand. Sing. Pray. Believe. 

It was that last one he’d never really gotten the hang of. 

The first few weeks of basic were not kind to any of the men. Everyone missed home, and there was nothing to be done except impatiently await the next letter. Shoes had to be broken in, muscle had to be built up, gun callouses were trained into innocent hands, orders were followed to the “T”, and all that before seven in the morning. 

Three weeks in and Bucky found himself holding a standard issue Colt revolver in his hand. The gun felt strangely familiar in his palm, considering he had never touched a real gun in his life.

He was a fair shot alright, if his first practice target was anything to go by. Beginners luck? He noticed Agent Carter, who had been patrolling through the ranks of shooters, correcting a grip here, improving someone’s aim there, turn her head to watch him. 

He reloaded and shot again; one outlier in the third ring on the first kick, then four bullets dead in the center, three just inside the center ring. It was a damn sight better than most. Hodge had yet to even hit the target once.

“Pretty good shooting, Private?” 

“Barnes, ma’am.” 

“Did you shoot rabbits as a kid, Private Barnes?” 

“No, ma’am. Can’t say I ever did.” 

“Where are you from?” 

“Brooklyn, ma’am.” 

“Brooklyn.” It wasn’t quite a question but it wasn’t quite a statement either. She seemed like she was musing something to herself, and found it more than a little funny. 

She surveyed his work again. 

“Do you mind?” She said, gesturing to the revolver. 

“No, you go ahead.” He said, handing the gun to her. 

A few men had stopped shooting now in order to watch. Another private at the far end of the gallery changed the target paper, then seemed to disappear off the face of the earth in a hurry. 

Agent Carter took aim and fired. Deft, and lethal, but each shot was thought out, it wasn’t hesitation, but instead an easy assessment and application of balance and weight, and distance. Agent Carter shot like she had done it many many times before, most likely with someone shooting right back at her, but she kept her level head. Bucky knew that training was probably instinct to her now, and it had probably saved her life more than once. Eight shots rang through the air and split the paper. 

Bucky whistled. 

Five bullets dead center, almost one on top of the other, the rest still inside the middle ring.

She didn’t seem smug, but it was just so. 

Bucky took the revolver back from her, then pretended it had burned him, hissed and flapped his hand a bit, hamming it up. It worked, and a tiny smile began at the corners of Agent Carter’s eyes and mouth. 

“Shiiiiiiiiit. I mean, with all due respect, ma’am.” 

“Of course.” She said archly. Then, seeming to remember herself a bit, “What other weapons have they let you try, private?” 

He told her.

She handed him a rifle, and sealed Bucky’s fate with a bullet in the bullseye. 

Agent Carter was probably better than him with a pistol or a revolver, but there was no competition with a rifle. 

After, she pinned him with an assessing look. Bucky got the feeling that she was sizing him up, really _looking_ at him, and had seen something she liked. 

“We’ll see if we can’t get some stripes on you, and get you some men.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

He stood taller. 

_______________________________________

Maybe if she had touched Hodge’s arm then, instead of his, maybe if she’d never placed the rifle in his hands and said, “shoot,” it would have been different. 

She gave him the 107th. 

Her eyes were not cruel. Her face was not made for that. But her smile was like razor wire. 

“We’ll make a good soldier out of you yet.” 

He proved her wrong. He wasn’t a good soldier, he was a great soldier, and he was an excellent killer of men. 

If he was an excellent killer, then he was a god amongst men when he held a sniper rifle in his hands. 

_______________________________________

They were deployed to England four weeks later. Bucky was in charge of the lives of twenty-three other men, and had absolutely no clue what that actually meant. 

_______________________________________

Bucky caught the man’s eye in a London bar one night. Actually, Bucky wasn’t sure who’d caught whose eye. He was just sure that neither of them looked away like he knew they were supposed to. 

They both slipped out back together.

Bucky sucked him off while the man threaded his fingers through Bucky’s hair. 

Bucky loved it, he practically begged for it, and afterwards Bucky leaned against the guy as he took Bucky in hand and got him off with barely two strokes. He patted Bucky’s hair as Bucky shook through one of the most intense orgasms of his life, Bucky muffled his moans into the man’s neck. 

_______________________________________

Bucky had seen some things, even before he had seen war.

See, the thing was, Bucky didn’t really have a problem with religion. He thought, maybe religion had a problem with him. 

_______________________________________

“Fucking fairy.” 

The accusation rang true like a gunshot. 

Bucky watched, fourteen and terrified as some of the Bartucci gang kicked and beat a small man, in broad daylight. 

The man had soft brown eyes, and long black eyelashes. He looked normal, maybe a bit effeminate. 

_Fucking fairy_. 

Bucky felt a sick nervous feeling in his gut. A lowdown rotten curl of something he was too afraid to put a name to. 

The man was on the ground trying to cover his head and his soft genitals and when Bartucci’s guys scattered, the man did not get up. A few people ran, maybe to go get help. Others simply milled around, looking on to see what would happen next, guilty in their dispassion. 

The man was still not moving. 

Bucky thought, this is not my religion. Jesus said, "let he who is without sin cast the first stone."

He and his friend Stephen went to get help. Bucky, sick with shame thought maybe they should have gone sooner. They went barreling around the street corner and ran right into Father McHugh in front of Bailey Head Pub. A couple of old drunks were out front playing checkers. 

“Whoa, where’s the fire, boys?” Father McHugh asked. He was elderly man, but still spry. He had dark hair going gray at the temples, and a bit of bloodhound about him, around the eyes. 

They babbled for minute, and for a minute, Father McHugh let them. 

“Who was it then? Slow down now.”

“Jacob Collins, sir.” Stephen spoke up. 

“Jacob Collins was it? That sounds like a good Protestant name.” One of the old drunks called from the checkers table. Obviously, whatever was happening here was more interesting than checkers. 

Bucky thought then that Stephen was Protestant himself. Stephen knew the man, had maybe gone to church with him, had luncheons with him on Sundays, probably knew the man’s family. Father McHugh was eyeing Stephen like he was trying to place his face from one of his masses, but already knew he wouldn’t be able to. 

“Collins.” The other drunk said, putting in his own two cents. “Isn’t he you know--.” He made a gesture Bucky didn’t know, but _understood_. 

A queer. A _fucking fairy_.

“Jim. Benny.” Father McHugh nodded at the two men at the table. These were good _Catholic_ drunks. Then he turned back to the boys. “So, one of the pastor’s flock has gone astray then?” He had a twinkle in his eyes like he thought it all one grand joke. 

He hadn’t seen, Bucky thought, he didn’t know the soft pitiful sounds a man makes when a he is hit and hit again and again until there are no more soft hurt sounds, and there is only the terrible smack of the boot or the fist. 

“Won’t you come-- Father?” It was out of Bucky’s mouth before he could think, small and scared. Bucky thought his eyes might be a little too wide, pleading. The man was just over there, just around the corner, just laying there. Was he still just laying there? Wouldn’t Father McHugh just come over and say a few words to the man? Over him? Hold his hand until someone came for him. 

And what about Bartucci’s guys? They’d get a sympathetic pat on the back and twenty Hail Marys. If they were even caught. People in Bucky’s neighborhood didn’t name names. 

“Why don’t you go fetch Pastor Samuels. He’ll know what to do.” Father McHugh directed this at Stephen. 

“Yes, sir.” Stephen said. 

“Bucky, why don’t you and I go get the police.” 

“Yes, Father,” said Bucky. 

They walked to the police station at a leisurely pace. Sometimes Father McHugh stopped to talk a little with one of his congregants. It seemed like he had a kind word or some advice for everyone they spoke to. 

By the time they got to the police station Bucky felt like he was going to come out of his skin. 

“Oh yea, that disturbance down on Flatbush Ave.?” The police officer they talked to had a pretty thick Brooklyn accent. “We already sent a coupla guys down there to check it out.”

“There, see, just like I thought.” Father McHugh said. Bucky didn’t know if he was really even reassuring him at all, or had maybe just said it to hear his own voice. 

“As far as I know it was just some queer gettin’ what was coming to him.” The policeman said. 

Father McHugh did not reply, because he was a man of God and it seemed unbecoming, but he tilted his head a little like he was inclined to agree with the sentiment. 

“I gotta go, Father. I’m late for dinner, and my mom’s probably wondering where I am.” It was still pretty early for dinner, but Bucky felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to get out of there before he did something to embarrass himself, like throw up, or cry. 

He’d never seen someone die before. In his mind, the man was still lying there broken on the street. 

“Oh, and Bucky,” Father McHugh said, right before Bucky could bolt, “I expect to see you at Mass this Sunday.” 

“Yes, Father.” 

_______________________________________

That was religion: judge, jury, and executioner all in one. 

And Bucky was still that fourteen year old boy, scared and ashamed. 

_______________________________________

Bucky tried to be a good son. He tried to send just enough letters so his mother wouldn’t worry, but not enough that he became exhausted with it. It felt too much like lying. It was exactly like lying. 

He read his mother’s letters in fits and starts. 

He knew she was just trying to keep her tone cheerful, knew she was trying to give him something to take his mind away from what he was going through, to give him a slice of home, but his mother’s world, the one of canasta games and Becca’s ripped Sunday dress seemed so surreal, so far away from his own reality he had to put the letters down to take a few deep breaths. 

It was too much. The break from there to here too great for Bucky’s mind to bridge. Three of his men had died yesterday, and his mother wanted to know if he had enough pairs of socks. After that, he never read more than the first few sentences. He thought, if there was any real news, good or bad, it would be written there. 

Sometimes Becca would write a little poem for him at the bottom of the letter, and he always read that part too. He saved every single one of the letters though, and carried them close to his heart. 

He hoped his letters were some small comfort to his family, Lord knew they were censored just enough to seem vaguely optimistic. 

 

_______________________________________

_Rejoice, O’ young man in thy youth_

Bucky loved sex, and he loved to flirt, and he loved to dance. 

He hadn’t always been very good at any of those things. Or, he hadn’t always been very good at those things with women. He got a lot of unintended laughter, and rolled eyes, and stilted kisses when he was younger, but he took direction well. He learned, and he asked a lot of awkward questions so that he could get true answers, and he tried really hard at it, and he practiced a lot, and he paid attention to his partner’s responses, to their body language, and he got really good at all three. 

For Bucky, they were usually intertwined. Flirting usually led to dancing or sex. Sex could lead to more flirting down the line, which could lead to more sex. Dancing was just foreplay, a slow tease, and it usually led to sex, but then again, dancing could be flirting or viceversa and didn’t have to have anything to do with sex. The combinations varied. 

He flirted with Agent Carter, and she responded like she was wise to all his tricks. Flirting with Agent Carter-- “Call me Peggy, please.”-- usually just led to more flirting. She matched him flirtatious comment, for flirtatious comment, or sometimes a brush to his arm, or a straightening of his collar where her fingers lingered, and then laughed it all off like it was an inside joke between them. And that was okay with Bucky. He liked to make her light up, liked to hear her laugh. 

They fell in fast together and stuck together, and it was always nice and easy to be together because there wasn’t much they _really_ wanted from each other. 

_And let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth_

Bucky thought of Becca, and the last time they’d really laughed together, carefree and young, before the war had tainted their lives for good. 

She had just gotten a good job over in Manhattan as a reader at a clippings bureau that paid twenty-five bucks a week, and had come home flush with triumph. He’d been so proud of her. He’d swung her around by her waist and they’d both hummed a popular tune as they danced, grinning at each other like loons. 

_And walk in the ways of thine heart_

Bucky had his first real girlfriend at fourteen. He was quick to tell everyone too. 

“She’s really pretty, and smart too! Her names Sara, Sara Mitchell. Yea, she’s the one that has the really long hair that’s always tied in a yellow ribbon. Yea, she knows all about baseball. She could probably spit farther than you, I bet. She lets me hold her hand and walk her home.” On and on. 

Sara didn’t actually seem to be too bothered by Bucky either way. They only kissed once. After that, Sara said, very seriously, that she had to focus on her studies because she wanted to be a nurse, just like her older sister, and they parted ways evensies. 

After that it was Denise, then Judy, then Girda, and Colleen, Cathy, another Sarah, Mary, Virginia…. Sometimes Bucky felt that nervous feeling in his stomach when he looked at another boy for a little too long…. Then Abigail, and Moira, and Barby, and Virginia again, Betty, Connie….

_And in the sight of thine eyes_

In war, Bucky found men just as desperate as he was. 

Who were quick to touch and quick to fuck. 

He had a sniper’s eyes. 

There was always something about the men whenever Bucky made eye contact across a smoky bar. 

Something hunted and furtive. 

It was always so obvious to Bucky, and he wondered if he didn’t have something like that about him too. The relief was so clear in the slope of their shoulders when an unspoken agreement had been made with just a slight nod of the head. 

Later, their movements as eager and frantic as Bucky’s own. 

Bucky was good at spotting the ones who would give him a good suck job, who would want him to fuck them slow and hold them after, and the ones who would maybe fuck him, just how he liked it, quick and hard. 

Not everyone had sniper’s eyes though, and he just hoped, he prayed, everyone else wasn’t as good at spotting it in him. 

_But know thou, that for all these things_

Bucky racked up quite the body count. He never thought of it as something to be proud of. Killing men was easy, especially from a distance. They never saw it coming. 

It kept Bucky up at night, those numbers. It was something that rubbed him the wrong way, rubbed him raw, and sore and hurting, but not for anyone to see. He lost sleep over it. Trying to find a way to justify it all. 

Murder was okay in the name of war. 

Dum Dum clapped him on the back as they were having drinks in a little pub in some nowhere village that had somehow managed to escape the bombs, so far. 

“Best sniper in the goddamn U.S. Military right here, fellas.” He boasted to a few other guys from another corps. He was well on his way to sloshed, and happy with it. “He’s saved our asses more times than I can count.”

That made Bucky think. 

Maybe those numbers began to balance out the others. Maybe a body count could be weighed against the number of times he’d killed to save someone else. 

Murder was okay in the defense of others. 

Bucky still lost sleep, but that rubbed raw feeling lessened a little. 

_God will bring thee into judgment_

_______________________________________

“This is a pretty peach.” Even the slight bruising only promised a juicier bite. The smell made Bucky’s mouth water and the slight fuzz tickled his mouth as he rolled it under his nose to inhale the sweet summer scent. 

The 107th had been traveling for going on two months in France, and were slowly making their way south.

They had stumbled on this peach orchard , just outside _________________ in ________________ provence. 

It had been a long while since they had had a reprieve. They had their marching orders, but Bucky wasn’t heartless enough that when they seemed to have stumbled on paradise he wouldn’t let his men take a little breather. 

The rows of trees were slightly askew, in wavering lines, as if whoever had planted them had been drunk. A drunk orchard, and that’s how they all felt now, a little bit drunk in this place like heaven on Earth. Sunshine shone crisp and gold through the peach tree branches, bowed with fruit. 

Honey bees flew around like they were swimming through their own honey, sluggishly, and heavily laden with pollen. The cicadas sang, a lulling hush. 

Bucky gave the peach a little squeeze, the flush of the skin felt soft and tender in his hand. Then he brought it to his mouth and bit in. Juice streamed out of the sides of his mouth, the sweet, earthy taste ran down his chin and neck, and down his wrist and his arm. 

He felt like he had just tasted sunlight. 

He gave an obscene moan. Nothing had tasted this good to him since the war had started; this fresh, and bright, and curiously _alive_. 

“Is that right, Sarge?” Dum Dum said from where he was laying out in the sun nearby, ten or twenty perfect peaches surrounded him within arms reach. 

Gabe was picking a daisy bouquet absentmindedly, and humming a slow pretty tune that Bucky thought he knew the words to if he thought hard enough, but the sunshine made his mind feel lazy, and he simply listened to the deep steady sound instead. Bucky surveyed the rest of the 107th spread leisurely throughout the orchard like the fallen peaches. Everything was shining, and gold, and they were safe. This place felt safe. 

“That’s right.” Bucky said, a bit belatedly back at Dum Dum, and grinned wide and goofy at him, even though Dum Dum couldn’t see or hear him. He’d fallen asleep, his cap over his eyes, and had begun to snore, loudly. 

They spent the day in the orchard, and they were all sorry to leave it behind when they started to march again early the next morning. 

_______________________________________

_Hallowed be thy name_.

Sweet words were made for the end of bedtime stories and war was made for cussing. 

-

“Sweet, motherfucking Christ.” Bucky whispered under his breath as he hid behind a tree. He’d just gone out a little way into the underbrush to answer nature’s call. Now, an entire battalion of Germans moved silently around him. 

They were everywhere, and too damn quiet. 

They did not find him, although Bucky could have sworn, and did later with a few drinks in him, that a few had brushed right up against the other side of the tree he was hidden behind. 

Miraculously, they turned east, moving away from where the rest of the 107th were camped. 

-

“Jesus Christ and all the fucking saints!” Dum Dum startled and fell back on his ass as an explosion rocked the earth right in front of him.

A stray dog had stepped on a mine just before Dum Dum had the chance. 

“It was a stupid mangy curr. Goddamn floppy ears and bitten off tail.” He’d insisted they say a few words over the remains. “Just an ugly, dumb, stupid bastard.” Dum Dum said, eyes a little misty. 

-

“Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck.” Private Conners said. He shivered and his lips were turning blue. 

“No, it ain’t all that. I’ve seen worse.” Bucky rasped, trying to keep Private Conner’s guts where they should be, inside his body. 

“Oh fuck. Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.” 

“I’m telling you, I’ve seen worse. They’ll get you all stitched up in no time. I sent Gabe and some of the fellas just over the hill and they’ll be right back with a doctor. It’s fine-- don’t look-- I’m telling you. I’ve seen worse.” 

-

“What in God’sfucking name?!”

-

“You son of a asslicking fuck.”

\- 

“That dickless sonuvabitch!” 

-

“Jesus. H. motherfuckingChrist.” 

-

And Bucky meant every. Single. Fucking. Word. 

_______________________________________

It wasn’t a week later, Bucky got a report, a warning since they were in the area. A division had passed through _________________ in ________________ provence. They had found a peach orchard, sweet and pretty, just like heaven. 

A few of the men had reached for the ripe fruit, and had been blown to smithereens. 

The entire orchard had been mined. 

No recent signs of digging, or disturbed earth had been noticed. 

Bucky and Dum Dum sort of looked at each other for a long time. A silent moment of disbelief. 

Bucky was sure the same dance was going on in Dum Dum’s head.

They had been all over that orchard. It couldn’t have been the same one. Maybe it wasn’t the same orchard? No. I mean, what were the chances anyway? It couldn’t be, could it? There had to be other peach orchards just outside of _________________ in ________________ fucking provence, right? 

They reread the report, and there it was. 

“... trees misaligned, slightly curving rows*…. *noted for future bomb retrieval….” 

Gabe brought out a bottle, and they all sat around the fire that night in a bit of a daze, getting piss ass drunk. 

It was moments like this when Bucky knew there was a God. 

_______________________________________

They passed through bombed out villages, and met with only ghosts. They passed other squads in the field; dead men walking. Every face they saw, gray and grim. 

At night they slept like the dead, while someone, usually Bucky, kept watch. 

Everyone either too jaded or too shellshocked to spook anymore.

They had all seen too many ghosts to be frightened by the night. 

_______________________________________

They found themselves in Italy, marching by a recent battleground. They couldn’t see it, but they could smell it. 

Dead men lay stinking in the sun, on the ground, scattered as they had died. The Morts Units hadn’t been through yet to clear the bodies, and give the men even the small dignity of a shallow grave. 

A storm was rolling in and they needed to find shelter, but the stench of the dead bodies was heavy in the air; bringing a visceral, stomach-churning, constant reminder of squirming maggots and carrion. 

A fate that awaited them all. 

The smell was so strong, Bucky could taste it in the back of his throat, horrifying and invasive, making him want to gag. They could move on, but the storm was coming up quick, and his men were exhausted. 

There was a large farmhouse, the front door torn off its hinges, obviously abandoned. They took shelter in it. 

The putrid scent followed them. Permeated the rooms. They could not escape it. Bucky almost thought it might be in his head, but the way his men seemed restless and uneasy, told him it wasn’t just him. 

The humid air was making him sweat. It was the still before a storm, not even a small breeze to push the scent away for a minute. The warm wet air mixed with the smell, making a heavy cloying blanket of rot-stench that seemed to settle over them all. It was quiet except for the drone of flies. There were too many flies buzzing around them; buzzing around the dead men. Even Gabe was swatting at the flies with a viciousness that was uncharacteristic. 

It would be better to go. Bucky paced. 

They couldn’t sleep here, Bucky decided. They would all go crazy with it. 

The storm hit. 

The wind howled. The rains came like a deluge. Then, there was only the smell of falling rain flooding through the open door, a purifying, cool relief. It was like a spell had been broken. The flies disappeared with the wind. The smell of death covered by the summer storm; a rich petrichor flavor on the back of Bucky’s tongue, cleansing his palate of what had been before. 

Bottles came out, and cigarettes were lit. Card games started up, and the farmhouse began to seem a lot more cosy, as men laughed and became more at ease. Dum Dum and few of his loyal dummies went out and danced in the rain, which caused a higher surge of spirits; men calling out to them, kidding at them and their antics. 

Dum Dum pulled Bucky out into the rain just as he’d lit a cigarette of his own. He was laughing too hard to care. 

Sometimes, Bucky was sure there was a God. 

 

_______________________________________

Then Bucky did something stupid. 

He caught the eye of a fella in a town that was too small and too dry. Alcohol was scarce, and everyone’s eyes were too wide awake and watching. 

They fucked in the little shed behind the hotel where the owner had once kept horses, at least, that’s what it smelled like. They probably weren’t cautious enough about being seen, and they certainly weren’t very quiet about it.

Bucky’s heart was thudding so hard in his ears, and he was very aware of the blood rushing through his veins, and maybe he just didn’t care anymore, even while he knew he was being dumb, really stupidly dumb, but his eyes wouldn’t focus from the pleasure, and the man’s hands gripped his hips just this side of right. 

They emerged rumpled. Bucky’s uniform a mess. He’d always been so careful before, and they ran right into Dum Dum who had obviously been looking for Bucky. It would take a prize idiot to not know what they’d been up to, and Dum Dum, for all that his moniker implied, wasn’t that. 

The fellow ran, and Bucky was left to tuck in his shirt and walk quietly, dead quiet, back up to the hotel with his second-in-command, his _friend_ , tension thick between them. 

They were at their separate hotel room doors. Dum Dum handed him a piece of paper, not quite looking him in the eyes. That’s why he’d been searching for Bucky, to give it to him. 

“Goodnight, Sarge.” 

The relief flooded Bucky then even while his stomach curdled. Dum Dum wouldn’t look him in the eye, but Bucky knew he also wasn’t going to say anything. 

“Goodnight.” 

Dum Dum’s door was already shut. 

Bucky looked at the piece of paper for a long time without actually reading it.

They had their next marching orders. 

Azzano. 

_______________________________________

“Colonel. Agent.” Dum Dum saluted. 

“Report, Sergeant.” Peggy was watching him. She was too composed to seem impatient, but Dum Dum knew it all the same. 

“We were ambushed at Azzano. Private First Class Gold and I were cut off from the rest of the squadron and took cover in a dilapidated section of the city wall. The rest of the squadron took cover just inside the bombed out monastery. We had no way of communicating with each other, and no way to call for aide or reinforcements. Sergeant Barnes took out at least twenty men from his position in the bell tower. We thought we could hold out, but another German unit came in with a huge fuc--.” Here he paused, his eyes jumped briefly to Peggy, then back to stare straight again into the distance as he continued his report, “--king tank, with extremely advanced weapons systems.” Here he stopped again. 

“Go on.” Peggy prompted. 

“Well, it killed them, sir. Ma’am.” 

“Killed who? The rest of your squadron?” Colonel Phillips asked. 

“No, sir. They killed their own men. They killed the damn Nazis, sir. Then they turned the tank on us, and after seeing what they’d done to their own--” Dum Dum stopped briefly, but Peggy was quick enough to see that whatever had happened, it had been _bad_. 

A short silence, then Dum Dum continued. 

“After he saw it, Buck-- Sergeant Barnes thought it would be best to surrender. They were captured by Hydra.” 

Dum Dum knew that Hydra was not some big news to either Agent Carter or Colonel Phillips. Neither of them batted an eyelash at the name, or questioned him further about it.

“Sir, permission to take a small squadron of men to try and rescue the rest of the--.” Agent Carter began. 

“Carter, they’re thirty miles behind the line. There’s no point in you running around enemy territory just to get caught or killed yourself. We’re going to save those boys by winning the war. You may not like it, but that’s what I intend to do. Do I make myself clear?” 

“Perfectly, Colonel.” 

“Good. You’re dismissed.” 

She turned on her heel and left the tent.

“Wait, Agent Carter!” Dum Dum was right behind her, only belatedly realizing he’d left without being dismissed. 

She headed straight to the armory, the flaps of the tent billowed angrily in her wake, and Dum Dum dove in after her. 

“You’re going after them, aren’t you?” He said a little breathlessly, trying to keep up. 

“You’re either with me or against me, Dugan.” No one had ever looked more intimidating with a tiny .380 in their hand. She disappeared the little gun into a small holster near her ankle. Then reached for the next weapon on the table, an automatic pistol that looked like Howard had definitely added some modifications to.

Speaking of whom.

“Oh good, we can stop by Lucerne for a late night fondue.” Howard had been watching them since they entered the tent. “I assume I’ll be driving?” 

_______________________________________

“Give them hell, boys.” Peggy said to the bedraggled looking men they’d just liberated from the cages. Then she turned to Dum Dum. “I’ll meet you all in the clearing where we landed with anyone else I find.” 

She was already moving, pistol in hand. 

“Wait! You know what you’re doin’?” Dum Dum shouted after her retreating form. 

“It can’t be harder than running circles around you during basic _in heels_.” Was the returning barb, and with that, she disappeared around a corner. 

_______________________________________

It had been Hell. Bucky wasn’t one to mince words. 

Now, he was staring up at none other than Peggy Carter, silhouetted by the bright surgical lamp above her head. Peggy Carter, patron saint of lost souls, of lost soldiers. Patron Saint of Bucky fucking Barnes. 

“Peggy?” He slurred. “What’d they do to me, Peggy?” 

“I have an idea, but I don’t think now’s the time to sit and discuss theories. Come on, let's get you out of here.” 

She pulled him off the table. 

He felt like a baby animal just getting his legs under him for the first time. 

His eyes wouldn’t sit straight in his head, and everything swayed dangerously for a minute, he thought he might puke, as they began to move, too quickly too soon. Bucky could hear sirens and alarms blaring, men screaming, and somewhere, not too far, a fire roared. 

It all seemed far away. He was still trying to get his vision to stop dancing, and his ears to quit ringing. 

Peggy led him, and he followed close behind, like a good little lamb. 

Then, just when he was beginning to get his feet back under him, and had decided he probably wasn’t going to throw up after all, they met Red Skull on a bridge leading to an elevator, with Zola sniveling just behind him.

Zola. Bucky felt like puking all over again. 

Quivering behind Red Skull, Zola looked every inch the pathetic coward he was, but Bucky remembered being strapped to the table never having been more scared of anyone in his entire life.

Red Skull just happened to be a little more than a creepy nickname, which he demonstrated when he _pulled his face off_. 

Bucky couldn’t manage more than a low appreciative whistle and a barely audible, “Jesus,” which Peggy either didn’t hear or chose to ignore. Bucky knew that Red Skull and Peggy had some kind of verbal tête-à-tête going on but couldn’t really make it out. He could still hear a muffled ringing in his ears and, even though his legs could hold him up, he felt shaky and distanced from it all. 

Red Skull made to retreat. 

Peggy, bulldog that she was, wasn’t having any of that, and managed to get a shot in before the elevator doors closed completely. They both heard an indignant squawk come from within just as the elevator doors slid completely shut.

Bucky would have bet good money that she’d got him right in the ass.

Peggy didn’t have long to feel too satisfied, another explosion just underneath them made the bridge sway dangerously. It was getting awful hot now, like roasting on a spit. 

Peggy moved to help him, getting her arm underneath his to carry some of his weight. His knees were feeling more solid by the minute but he still felt very removed from all the chaos around him. 

He was glad that Peggy was taking the lead and hauling his sorry ass out of this place. 

“We need to get down. They’ll have headed up most likely they have transportation of some kind on the roof. The shaft should be clear, we can rappel down.” Peggy shouted over the explosions going off all around them. 

Bucky pried the elevator doors open. 

Peggy’s leather gloves protected her hands, and Bucky tore strips from his shirt and wound them around his own. They made quick work of the elevator shaft, and before Bucky even realized it, they were running across the hard, frozen ground outside towards the rendezvous point, while the rest of the Hydra base smoldered behind them.

The rest of the men were waiting for them. All looking worse for wear, but also, quietly defiant. Peggy immediately took charge and began to organize them. Not a single one of the men hesitated to follow her orders. 

Bucky felt exhausted, and a deep _deep_ coldness had started to settle in his bones now that the adrenaline was wearing off. 

He tried his best to help Peggy, to follow her orders. He helped get injured men, and supplies up into the trucks and tanks they’d stolen. In a faraway way, he noticed without noticing, that he was lifting what would normally take two or three men to carry. That most of the men were skinny and sickly from imprisonment, but he himself still seemed strong, and healthy.

They began a weary march back to base camp. 

Peggy was somehow everywhere at once, chatting to the men animatedly to keep their spirits up, checking on the wounded, making sure that those who needed it got spots on the jeeps and tanks, keeping morale up in general. 

Bucky thought, every man there was a little in love with her, in awe of her, with a healthy dose of respect. 

Everyone but him. Zola had carved him up and hollowed him out on that table. Bucky couldn’t feel anything in his cold bones now. Much less love. Respect, hell yes, he respected Peggy to the moon and back, but love? He couldn’t fathom any longer. And what if he was worse than hollow? What if Zola had turned him inside out, and put in something else, a monster, like Red Skull? What would happen to him then? Would Saint Peggy Carter come to vanquish him, put him out of his misery like a mad dog?

God, he hoped so, even as he started to sweat at the thought. 

A clap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. He turned to find Dum Dum at his side. God, Dum Dum! He’d never expected to see him again.

From the way Dum Dum was looking at him, he’d probably thought something similar. Before Bucky could do anything: laugh hysterically, cry, beg forgiveness, Dum Dum pulled him into a crushing hug, and just like that, Bucky knew it was going to be okay between them. 

“I’m glad you made it out, Sarge.” Dum Dum said quietly, with feeling. 

Dum Dum let him go abruptly, and Bucky almost crumpled without the support, then he clapped Bucky hard on the back several times and immediately passed him a cigarette. Bucky knew it was to try and cover up the almost embarrassing depth of emotion felt between them now.

Bucky took the cigarette with steady hands, always steady, lit up and took a long grateful drag. 

“I’m glad to see you too, Dum Dum.” Bucky said, clearing his throat, pretending it was from the smoke. God, but a cigarette really hit the spot right now. Bucky felt some tension in his shoulders unwind. “And the other fellas? They make it out okay?” 

“Oh, they made it out alright. Led the charge. Gabe and a fellow named Falsworth stole a tank.” Dum Dum chuckled a little at the recollection. 

Bucky thought what he did with his mouth could be described under the loosest terms as a smile. That’s right, Bucky thought belatedly, good men: Morita, Dernier, and Falsworth! Bucky had almost forgotten about them, and Gabe too, Bucky was relieved to hear he was alright. 

“It’ll be alright, Jimmy.” Dum Dum said, seeing Bucky’s face, which had been left in the rigor mortis of a smile a little too long to be natural. He hardly ever called Bucky that. Only his mother and Tim Dugan ever called him, “Jimmy.” Dum Dum clapped Bucky hard on his shoulder again. “We’ll get back to camp and get a hot meal in our stomachs, and be right as rain by morning.”

Bucky didn’t share Dum Dum’s optimism, but he nodded in agreement, and took another long drag of his cigarette. 

They marched on. 

_______________________________________

A cry went up as they entered the fringes of base camp. The general din only built as they continued farther through the orderly rows of pup-tents, then through the rows of larger officers tents. 

Bucky had ended up at the front of the convoy with Peggy, marching just at her left. 

One soldier dropped the firewood he was carrying as they passed and sprinted off in the direction of the command tent, presumably to alert the brass. Sure enough, when they reached the center of the camp, Colonel Phillips was there to meet them. 

If Bucky had thought upon first meeting the Colonel that he was a man who had aged a lot in a short time span, then he thought he looked ancient now. Not really in his face, except around the eyes, but in the set of his shoulders, military straight, but heavy, like they carried the weight of the world. He looked like a man who had had to make one too many tough decisions, decisions he wasn’t always proud of, and it kept him up at night. 

Peggy immediately stood at attention in front of him. Her eyes were spitfire and mirth, and her mouth was just barely suggesting a smile. 

“Some of these men need medical attention as soon as possible.” Peggy said right off. “I’d also like to surrender myself for disciplinary action, Colonel.” 

Philips’ eyes did not return Peggy’s mirth. He was a grouchy old bastard, make no mistake. He was hard to read, but Bucky thought that the Colonel might just look a little proud of Peggy in that moment, but he was trying really hard not to show it so as to not encourage any other acts of rebellious heroism. It was something in the lines around his mouth, consciously pulled down in an attempt to restrain a smile of his own. 

“We’ll talk later, Carter. It looks like these men need a good meal and a better night’s rest.” 

“Yes sir.” Peggy saluted, smiling more openly now. 

The Colonel, poker faced, gave a stony nod and left. 

“Peggy, where the hell were you!” Howard rushed at her, grabbing her by the shoulders, not even trying to hide how worried he’d been. 

“I’m sorry, Howard. I couldn’t call you.” Peggy answered with a wry smile, holding up a clearly destroyed transponder. 

Bucky couldn’t stand it. Peggy had busted into a Hydra base, practically single-handed, and helped free over 400 soldiers from enemy entrapment, hadn’t even gotten so much as a “good job” and was now _apologizing_. 

“LET’S HEAR IT FOR AGENT CARTER.” It burst out of Bucky, his voice a bit hoarse, but it carried over the rest of the troops. Every single one of the men that had been at the Hydra Base, bedraggled as they were, let out an unrestrained cry. 

A real smile graced Peggy’s lips. 

“Now now,” Peggy said, after a bit of time, modestly attempting to gain some control of the riotous men, shamelessly led by Bucky himself. “We’re all tired now. Go rest up. Make sure and ask for extra rations tonight at Mess. I’ll put in the order.” 

There was one last cheer, with gusto, and the men began to disperse. 

_______________________________________

Peggy doesn’t get dishonourably discharged, but it’s a close thing. Bucky hears about it later. He can just picture it. The brass had probably tried to make it seem like she should be grateful to them, that they were doing her a favor for not bringing her up for Unauthorized Absence, Abandonment of Post, and a whole host of other phony charges. 

They don’t give her a medal. She doesn’t get promoted. 

Bucky’s glad he had started that cheer for her. That was about all the thanks she was going to get for what she’d done. 

For being a hero.

Bucky gets promoted to Captain.

“For what?! Getting me and my entire squadron captured?” He yells at Phillips, later. 

“There were reports that you sacrificed yourself for the men in your squadron, volunteering in the place of your men for experimentation and torture.” 

“With all due respect, _sir_. That’s bullshit and we both know it. I got them captured in the first place, it was the least I could do.” Bucky was so mad he could spit. “So now you’re saying I’m getting promoted for being a fucking science experiment? We both know who should be getting these orders, and it ain’t me.”

“Them’s the breaks, kid.” Colonel Phillips said, but Bucky thought even the interminable Colonel looked tired for a moment; on his shoulders, the weight of the world.“You’re dismissed, Barnes. Don’t forget to stop by medical and get checked out. That’s an order.” 

Bucky had a lot more yelling in him, but they both knew that the Colonel wasn’t really the person he wanted to yell at. He’d been dismissed, and he was aching for a hot shower and a whole fucking pack of cigarettes. 

He gave the Colonel a sharp salute, and left.

_______________________________________

He tried his best to avoid Peggy. She was looking for him, and Bucky knew it hadn’t escaped her for a second that he’d never been fully debriefed.

_______________________________________

Only Peggy knew what a state Bucky’d been in, when she’d first pulled him off that table.

The doctors in camp had released him almost immediately, because outwardly he was the picture of perfect health. The irony was he’d actually gained weight while Zola had him. Whatever they’d pumped him with added on muscles in places he hadn’t even known _could be_ muscular. 

It was only if you looked at his face, his eyes gave him away. He looked older, haunted. 

He knew Peggy saw it. He was pretty sure Colonel Phillips saw it, saw it in every man that passed in front of him at some point in time.

He didn’t think any of the guys knew. 

He at least tried to put on a face. 

Maybe Dum Dum had him figured out. He sometimes gave Bucky a look and then would immediately offer him whatever he had on hand: a bar of chocolate, a cigarette, booze, any small comfort.

_______________________________________

Colonel Phillips gave Peggy her own team. She knew it was his way of saying “good job” and “I’m sorry,” because he wasn’t the kind of man to say it out loud. He was just too old and too gruff to learn new, emotionally charged tricks. 

Peggy understood. She was good at her job. False modesty and the low expectations held for women by society aside, she was _great_ at her job, and she loved it. The higher ups would have her think that this was as far as she was ever going to get. 

Colonel Phillips was trying to say he believed in her.

“We’re gonna set a fire under Johann Schmidt’s ass. What do you say, Carter? Do you think you can wipe Hydra off the map?” 

“Yes, sir, but I’ll need a good team.” 

“We’re already putting together the best men.” 

“With all due respect, Colonel. So am I.” 

She picked them all, the Howlies. The Howling Commandos. Peggy Carter’s Howling Commandos sounded kind of like a circus act. For some godforsaken reason, she picked Bucky too. 

_______________________________________

Peggy pulled him into the office of some muckety muck who was hardly ever there to use it. It was dark and cramped, all the better to facilitate whisperings and covert meetings. When Bucky looked at Peggy he knew it was the perfect place for whatever she was about to say to him.

“Now, what I’m about to tell you is extremely classified. Only myself and four others knew of this project’s existence. Do you swear that you will keep this information secret in all its aspects.” Her eyes were very dark and very serious. 

He swore to her. 

“Alright, Peggy, you know you can trust me.” 

“Have you ever heard of Project Rebirth?” 

“No.” 

“Project Rebirth was a top secret government initiative. Howard Stark, Colonel Phillips and I are they only people fully briefed on the scope of the project. There was a fourth, a German doctor by the name of Abraham Erskine. He created the serum.”

“The serum? For what?” 

“A serum for super soldiers.” They blinked at each other for a moment. Bucky almost expected Peggy to start laughing at him for being so gullible. Except her eyes were completely unsmiling.

When Bucky gave no response, she continued.

“Testing had just been approved for human subjects. The first such test failed.” 

“What happened?” Bucky whispered, almost too afraid to ask. 

“In the middle of the first test, a German spy by the name of Heinz Kruger, attacked and stole the Super-Soldier Serum. I pursued, but was unable to capture Kruger. Dr. Erskine was killed in the attack, and the initial test subject deemed unfit for duty.”

Bucky stomach sank. He had a feeling he knew exactly where this was heading. 

“Kruger was a spy for an organization called Hydra, founded by one Johann Schmidt, alias, Red Skull. The serum found its way into the hands of Dr. Arnim Zola.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped out completely. 

Peggy was watching him, her gaze sympathetic. 

“I noticed that you were easily able to open the elevator doors at the Hydra factory. You were able to lift men and munitions easily into the jeeps and onto tanks. You seemed healthy and fit while the other men had obviously atrophied in confinement.” She hadn’t missed a thing. 

“Oh yea, I was the poster boy for perfect health when you pulled me off that table.” He said a little viciously, bitterly.

Peggy squeezed his shoulder. Then gave him a quelling look. 

“You know,” She began, too casually, “Erskine died before he could see his serum do any good in the world. He had big plans for it…” Bucky knew she was angling at something, “...plans involving tights. Red, white, and blue tights….” 

Suddenly it snapped into place. Oh God. Is that what that shapeless, patriotic, spandex mass had been that Howard had been trying to show him earlier? When Bucky had been in the armory, definitely not hiding from Peggy. Tights. A uniform. 

“The world needs a symbol. I think Erskine would have liked you, Barnes.” She was smart, and conniving, and _so evil_. "The war needs a symbol. The troops need a leader." She was asking too much of him, but she was right.

“I’m a soldier, Peggy.” He tried to not sound like he was pleading, because then she would think she had already won. “I’m not a hero, and I’m certainly not a symbol of freedom and justice for all.” 

“No, but you will be one anyway.” She said. A brutal assessment, if true. If the U.S. Military told you to prance around Europe in tights, you pranced.

“Yea, I suppose I will.” He didn’t sound happy, but he guessed he didn’t have to playact in front of her. She was too smart for her own good, way too smart for him, anyway.

“It should have been you, Pegs. We both know it.”

The promotion, the spotlight, the uniform, all of it, any of it. God only knew Bucky didn’t want it. 

“Yes, well. I suppose I can do a lot more for them behind the scenes than on the frontlines.”

“And get none of the credit for it.”

She did not refute his statement. 

“I would have looked better in those tights, that’s for sure.”

Of that, Bucky had no doubt. 

“Captain America has a nice ring to it.” Then she was gone, leaving Bucky alone in a dark little room that was made to hold secrets. 

He could picture it. Him, in the stupid uniform like a target on his back, trying not to get him or his men blown up, trying to play a role, trying trying trying to survive, to catch his breath for a goddamn second because he was a sniper for christ sakes. Not a fucking dancing monkey. He was exhausted just thinking about it. He could plot and plan with the best of them, but when it came down to execution, well, he was much better at slipping into the shadows and taking care of business from a distance. He didn’t like the idea of this bold as anything, Symbol of Justice and the American Way, flag flying, patriotic propaganda bullshit. 

The room was starting to feel more and more like a cell by the minute. He needed some goddamn air. 

_______________________________________

A few nights back at base camp found him in the nearby village alone at the bar trying his damnedest to get boozed to the gills. 

When Peggy Carter walked into the bar in that red dress. If he could muster up any kind of emotion, it would be admiration for her now. The entire bar seemed to hold their breath as she walked through, released on a sigh as she passed by. 

Somebody let out a long low whistle, probably Dum Dum, who hadn’t been born with a lick of sense, but Peggy ignored them all, and instead, made a beeline for Bucky. 

He could do it now. He could bring himself to love her, he could. 

He could.

Her walking with her head high, her hips swaying, knowing she had the attention of every man in that room, and thriving under the attention. 

Jesus, who was he foolin’? 

He just felt old and tired. 

Even so he tried to pull it together, for her, just a little. 

“Peggy, I think those Hydra bastards did something to my eyes. I can’t seem to take them off you.” He gave her a facsimile of his old grin, the one that used to make girls swoon. His eyelashes lowered, heavy with promise over his deep blue eyes, but he ruined the effect with a cheeky wink. 

“Oh quit, you.” Peggy said, but seemed pleased all the same, and returned his wink with one of her own. 

They sat there grinning at each other a moment, and Bucky almost felt… warm. 

“Hey barkeep, how bout gettin’ this lady a drink?”

Bucky pointed at Peggy, asking her what she wanted with a quirk of an eyebrow. 

“Whisky.” She said. 

“Make that two.”

The bartender nodded and got them their drinks. 

“Cheers.” Bucky said, raising his glass 

“Tchin Tchin.” Peggy said, with a raised eyebrow and challenge in her eye. She drank the entire whiskey in one go. Bucky was quick to follow suit. He was starting to think that the barkeep might be watering the drinks, six in and he still wasn’t feeling anything. 

Peggy broke him from his musings, and the dark looks he’d started to cast in the bartender’s direction. 

“Howard has some new equipment for you to try. Does tomorrow morning sound good?”

“Sure, sounds good.”

Someone, Bucky couldn’t be sure, but he was fairly certain was a very drunk Morita, had started to sing. Horribly, off-key, loud and happy, and was followed pretty quickly by all the others. 

Peggy turned to look at the source of the noise. 

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty.”

“Aww, they’re more your squad than mine. And what’s the matter. You don’t like music?”

“I do actually.” Peggy, replied good-naturedly, but scrunched up her nose a bit as if to say, ‘that can hardly be considered music.’

“I might even, when this is all over, go dancing.” She shot Bucky another challenging look, like the one right before she’d downed her whiskey. 

Bucky responded automatically, flirtatiousness coming naturally to him. He only felt like half a fake. 

“Then what are we waiting for?” He said, eyes dark and hooded with his long lashes and a suggestive smirk working at the corners of his full lips. 

“The right partner.” Peggy was also smiling again, but it was more genuine than Bucky’s lascivious smirk. If Bucky wasn’t mistaken, there was something almost like shyness in her expression, in the warm flush of her cheeks. Like she was offering something to him, tentatively. 

He couldn’t be that for her. But he didn’t want to take that look off her face either. He didn’t want to break this warm illusion they’d cast around each other.

“Aw, there’s a war on, Barnes, don’t overthink it. Dance with the lady forchristsakes!” Dum Dum never knew when to keep his mouth shut.

“Oui, danser avec la belle dame!” Said Dernier, throwing in his own two cents. 

None of them did. 

“Well, I don’t know about right or wrong.” _He knew he wasn’t right in his head_. “But I do know how to show a girl a good time.” Another devil-may-care smile. 

The look, the offer, was gone from Peggy’s face. She was smart enough to figure out he was saying ‘no,’ but not hurt by it. Besides, she never said she was taken, but Bucky got the feeling she might have somebody else, another fella she had her eye on.

He took her by the hand and led her out to dance, for old times sake. It seemed right. He hadn’t known her very long, in the grand scope of things, but the war brought everyone together gritty and quick. Everyone desperate to get as much living in as possible because it might be over all too soon

Even if he couldn’t love her the way she deserved, he wanted to know her his whole life, however long that might be. 

It was a fast-paced dance, not much time for introspection or romance, but there were moments, a slip of a hand, a brush of warm breath on a cheek, a glimpse of “what-could-be.” Bucky was a damn good dancer, and Peggy kept right in time. By the end of the song she was smiling again, vibrant and real. He felt like he’d at least done that right by her. 

Had given her that last dance.


End file.
